


Dual

by Ramasi



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Timeline, M/M, Post-Series, Rough Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:58:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramasi/pseuds/Ramasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mello isn't quite sure, but he -thinks- he wants to strangle Near to death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dual

**Author's Note:**

> This is set post-series, so they're older, but it doesn't clearly say by how much. Mello has survived and is sharing L's title with Near.

"I hate you. I _hate_ you!"

He has his hands around Near's neck, and he doesn't know what stops him from squeezing the life out of him, stops him again, why he rubs up his hips against the boy beneath him on the floor instead, forearms on Near's chest, thumbs caressing and pushing against Near's neck, feet tangled with Near's. Near lies almost still under him, only very subtly pushing up, hair more dishevelled than usual, hands laying by his sides, one of them twirling an action figure between his fingers, eyes wide open and motionless, clouded with pleasure and no less observant than usual. Mello can feel his arousal through the lose fabric of his pyjama pants, and wants to free himself of the painfully constricting fabric of his own pants, yet he can't, can't release Near's neck even for a moment, has to know he can kill him, anytime, anytime.

There are cameras watching them, more than even he knows, and Near's people dutifully surveying them, but they won't interfere, no matter what. And there's a block castle – no, a whole city – constructed over most of the floor of the large empty room, files, computers, material banned to the corners, and toys scattered all over the room, all of it so very _Near_.

"Hate you," he repeats, panting, and briskly he lets go of Near's neck: with one hand he grabs his hair (white and silky and soft, and he loves it and wants to rip it off, wear it like a trophy) and bangs his head against the floor, while with the other hand he pries the toy from Near's fingers and hurls is across the room. Near makes a faint sound of pain and surprise, and Mello quickly undoes his belt in a few fast gestures, then pauses and grins.

As Near is recovering from the sudden shock of the pain, eyes already as focused as ever, Mello passes the belt over his head and squeezes it snug, then sits back, holding one end of the belt, ready to pull, grinning manically (if nothing else, the others will see this and be afraid, this is new, and they know he can, he will kill Near, even if Near doesn't). He grinds his hips against his rival's, unrestrained now, slowly pushing down the pyjama pants in the movement. Near untangles their legs, spreads wide. His fingers are playing piano against the floor, fast, unnerving, and Mello really wishes it wouldn't excite him further, closes his fist tighter on the belt.

"Fuck you," he snarls, voice rough. "You had no right – "

"We made a plan and you didn't keep to it, I had to have you stopped," Near says, voice steady but speaking faster than usual, Mello can hear the moan he's holding back, and he doesn't know if that pleases or angers him.

" _Fuck your plans_ , I could have figured it all out alone!" Mello stops moving and gives the belt in his hand a vicious pull. "You don't get to decide every – "

Near's breath hitches, from the strangling, from arousal, from both, Mello doesn't know, but he interrupts without missing a beat:

"You could have _failed_ " – Mello opens his mouth to protest – "and _the tarnish would have been on L's name_."

Mello clenches his fists, hates Near, hates himself for knowing Near says this only to get to him and letting it happen anyway, hates the knowledge that he wouldn't be here, wouldn't share the title if Near hadn't let him, and hates himself for not regretting it and –

Near is smiling up at him in the cocky yet unassuming way of his, and pushes his hips up to give him better access.

Mello hisses angrily, lets go of the belt and pushes Near back flat on the floor, hold him down with his body's weight, as much contact as possible, hopes to hurt him; he reaches under his pyjama top and scratches the skin down his sides – and he kisses Near angrily, bits down on his lips hard enough to make them bleed and then bits down again, and Near moans into his mouth, in pain or in pleasure or both, but Mello doesn't see if he's finally made him turn away that ever-curious, adjudging gaze, because he's closed his own eyes.

Finally, Near's arms come to embrace him, rest on his back almost timidly, and maybe Mello would find endearing this fucked-up controlling dependency of his, if he wasn't so furious at his own failure, furious for almost feeling satisfied.


End file.
